There’s a rugged beauty to the desert. It blooms and howls and soothes the soul. Nature is far more abundant out there than most people even know. It’s a desert, after all… a place described with words like “harsh,” “barren,” and “wasteland.”

But those of us who feel the call to the arid oasis know that it is so much more.

The desert allows your mind to rest. The stars at night remind you of your place in the Universe. The landscape is alive with alien flora. It feels like a spirit that holds the mysteries of our collective souls. This is why I’m drawn to her… to retreat from my everyday life.

A few days before my birthday, I drove out to Joshua Tree to clear my head and heart and make myself ready for the year about to unfold. I had a lot of clutter to clear out… random thoughts that have been pinging around in my brain long enough… mental movies that I’d been playing back in perpetual loops… thoughts that needed to stop being thought upon. I needed to release my mind of them and I knew it could only be done in the desert. I confessed to friends and to Twitter that I was a little nervous about heading out alone. They probably all assumed I was worried about my safety. I wasn’t. I was worried about what I might hear… what I might have to let go of.

My trip out to to the desert started with a sound bath at the Integratron in Landers just outside of Joshua Tree. This has been on my list for years, which is why I planned my trip around the session I booked. It was the second to last available spot when I made my reservation weeks in advance. I was so excited about it that arrived 90 minutes early, which anyone who knows me will definitely raise an eyebrow about. I’m NEVER early.

I took advantage of the time and toured the property. On site are a cluster of hammocks and several outdoor lounging areas. I sat to have the lunch I packed and sipped a cup of the delicious alkaline water that pumps from a well on site. Afterwards, I meandered around at a slow pace to check out all the sculptures in the garden.

My heart jumped a bit when our time came to enter the Integratron. We entered the lower level, removed our shoes, then one at a time, climbed up the steep ladder to the open space that was resonating with the sounds of the crystal bowls being played. We were invited to take a turn standing in the center of the room and speaking our intention into the ceiling above.

The acoustics in the room create a sound chamber that echos your words right back into your own ears. I whispered my intention to myself… whispered because I was kind of embarrassed to speak it out loud to strangers… yet I heard it so clearly that I turned to the person behind me to see if they had heard my private thoughts. They seemed oblivious. I grabbed a couple of blankets to tuck under my knees for comfort and found a mat to lay on.

We settled in to our resting positions as our sound bath guy… musician… hmmm… not sure what to call him exactly, so let’s go with guide… as our sound bath guide played the white crystal bowls. He began with the history of the place, which includes plans that were given to a man by aliens from Venus and all the wood in the ceiling being donated by the eccentric Howard Hughes. The building was never completed because its creator, George Van Tassel died of a heart attack and the plans mysteriously vanished, presumably whisked away by the Venutians.

It could happen.

The current owners of the Integratron are three sisters that loved going out to Joshua Tree for retreats and wanted to find a place to bring people together to do the same. So they bought the place and made good use of the acoustics in the space by creating sound baths for people to enjoy. When it was time to go deeper, we were given instructions to keep our movements to a minimum, as all sounds resonate throughout the space. We were also asked to help with any snorers, because apparently, falling dead asleep is a side affect of the sound bath.

This was not the case for me.

I was relaxed, but every cell in my body was buzzing. I was aware of the tiniest sensations throughout my body… the weight of my arms, the tingling in my legs, the buzzing even in my eyes. I watched clouds in the windows that were outside, yet seemed inches away from my face. The blue in the sky was more vibrant and tickled my head to stare at. Eventually, our ride came to an end. It wasn’t too soon. It felt perfect. I spoke to the owner on my way out. She seemed delighted to hear about my experience. She is doing the thing she was called to do. That truth radiated from her. I left the building thinking,

I want that.

I left the Integratron with a happy heart and a souvenir tank top and drove over to my accommodations for the next couple of nights. The property was at the edge of Joshua tree where I had reserved a tent. As I drove up to a sweet little bell tent, I thought, “I bought the wrong car.” I wanted a Jeep. I went with a “big girl” car. An older convertible BMW. It was ridiculously out of place on the rustic road. I decided I’d at least enjoy the convertible for the rest of the summer and maybe trade for the Jeep I thought I was getting too old for. I have a lot of bullshit beliefs like that. That was one of the reasons for the trip.

I originally planned to get further away from civilization. I knew I needed to disconnect to tap into the message my higher self needed to hear. But my physical self was kind of dreading laying on the ground in a bag. Even with a mat, I knew I’d be waking up with aching joints. I mean, I’m not 30-something anymore. So when my friend sent the AirBnB link to The Gonzo Tent at Boulders Hideaway, I decided to splurge and treat myself to slightly more comfortable accommodations.

The owners of this property have done a great job thinking of everything. There were even some little extras that were a delightful surprise, like the aloe face mask that I used after a day out hiking in the sun. The only downside is you can still hear the highway off in the distance, which is probably why they placed packets of ear plugs on the nightstand. But if you’re not looking to be completely off the grid, this is a great place to get your glamping on.

After bringing my backpack into the tent, I grabbed my bathing suit and a towel and took advantage of the “pool” next to the tent. The water was warm from the heat of the desert sun. Although I could still hear the sounds of the highway in the distance, the ripples of the water on my skin and the lingering buzz from the sound bath put me in a state of bliss.

Just before sunset, I started a fire and made made myself some dinner, which was a mango jalapeño chicken sausage and a kale and cranberry salad. What? You thought I’d eat chili from a can? I sat in front of the fire as the sky got darker and the stars revealed themselves. After a couple of hours of just chilling out and stargazing, I went to bed.

I slept so well, but my waking thoughts betrayed me. As daylight slowly set the tent aglow, I had this strange sense of guilt about taking this time out for myself. I had to really sit with this. Why is it wrong to take the time to reconnect with your soul? To clear the resistance in your heart and mind? To find peace? I gave myself permission to enjoy my retreat and reluctantly accepted it.

After making myself some coffee, camp-style, I packed my backpack with a towel, some snacks, water, my Canon EOS M50, and my trusty tripod, and drove out to Jumbo Rocks. This was the location I had originally planned to camp. There’s no cell coverage, which was the point of going out to the desert. I needed to disconnect. My campsite was still in cell range, so I had to actually turn off my phone to make myself shut down. But out in Jumbo Rocks, I didn’t have a choice… and that made me so happy.

I walked into the cluster of boulders and tracked around for about five hours. I would see a cluster of boulders that looked interesting and would trek my way over. And then another cluster and another trek. At one point, I stopped for a snack and a chat with God. “What is it I need to hear?” After some time in meditation and contemplation, it was clear.

“It’s okay to forget.”

This has been so hard to do, not just for the last couple of years, but maybe for the last ten. I’ve been keeping certain memories alive because I felt so guilty letting them go and forgetting. Like, if I could just keep remembering, then I could feel less guilt about how I couldn’t save him. I built a memorial in my mind… like those roadside cross and flower menageries that pop up when someone is struck. After a bit of time, some city clean up crew gathers it all up and does whatever… tosses it in the garbage, I guess.

The only one that was going to clear my little mental memorial was me.

I strapped my pack back on and kept hiking. After a bit, I came across an open space that looked like some kind of natural amphitheater. In that place, I found a flat rock that had a natural wall. It was a perfect private spot to lose my tan lines. I laid in the sun for about an hour wearing nothing more than my bucket hat. The only other observers were a family of crows across the way that had a nest in some cave-like spaces between boulders.

iPhone pic

After my sun bath, I got dressed and left my pack behind while I climbed the boulders of this amphitheater. I jumped and climbed so much that I forgot how old I was. Nothing hurt and I was laughing out loud to myself. I was breathing in the wind that was blowing stronger the higher up I climbed. I felt so alive and so clear on the message I had received … it’s okay to forget… forget the pain… forget the sadness… forget the loss…

It’s okay to forget and live again.

After about four hours of hiking and resting and intermittently taking pictures of desert blooms, I started making my way back out to the road and to my car. I didn’t really want to leave, but I needed to get back to camp before the sun went down to make my bougie little dinner again. On the way back into town, my phone got a signal and several messages came through. I figured I’d answer them back at camp. Once I arrived, however, I was having a hard time getting a signal. I wouldn’t have cared except that I needed to respond to someone about plans we made for the next day, so I turned the phone off and on again several times.

Nothing.

I finally decided to go back into town to see if maybe I could get a signal. Still nothing. I found a Starbucks (of course) and went in to use their WiFi. I grabbed a little cookie to eat for dessert and told the girl at the register about the trouble I was having with my phone. “AT&T,” she asked. Yes, I answered. “Everyone with AT&T has been having problems,” she told me Apparently, the wind had blown out some local cell towers. I assumed this was my fault because the Universe REALLY wanted me to unplug.

I mean, WHAT ELSE COULD IT HAVE BEEN???

So I went back to camp, had my dinner, watched the sun set and the stars come out, meditated a little more, then went to bed and fell asleep to the whispering of the wind. The next morning, I woke to the sound of raindrops on the canvas tent. It had arrived right on time. “Perfect timing,” I thought. I packed up my stuff and headed to a friend’s house in Yucaipa for a shower and then on to have some fun in LA.

While the camping was more glamping, it was still more rustic than a luxury Airstream. There was no electricity, or stove, or indoor plumbing, so it was definitely more like camping, which was a lot of what I wanted. And like many well-maintained camp sites, there was a very clean porta-potty across the path, so no need to squat in a bush.

All the accoutrement needed to cook outdoors was perfectly placed within the tent, so you can enjoy this camping experience without owning any of the regular camping equipment. And, of course, there’s the comfort of a full size bed, and even some extra blankets in a basket nearby. Boulders Hideaway at JTree is a close drive to the Integratron and not too far of from Jumbo Rocks for some day hiking; both of which I highly recommend. And still close enough to shops should you forget anything important like sunscreen or wine.

It was so nice, I was tempted to stay another night, but those couple of days in Joshua Tree were just the right amount of getaway. I left, promising myself I’d return before my mind got too cluttered again.

~~~

Except where noted, all images were taken with my Canon EOS M50Mirrorless Camera. Images with me in them were taken with the Canon using my favorite feature, Remote Live View Shooting from the Canon app on my phone. Here I am using the feature in action:

But with all those years (and aches and pains and wrinkles and blah blah blah) comes wisdom. Today, on Hot Mess Monday, I shared 13 of those things. I would have shared 49, but just like candles, sometimes it’s just too many to blow through. 13 being the day I was born and my favorite number, I decided to go with that.

If you’re curious to know what one learns by this age, just click over to watch the replay of 13 Things in 49 Years.

PS: I know it’s my birthday, but I actually have a gift for YOU! You’ll just have to watch to find out what it is!

I'm not a big fan of The Simpsons. I think I regularly watched half of the episodes of the first couple of seasons and a few random others, but I just never really got very excited about the show. One episode, however, keeps coming to mind. Homer had eaten a blowfish and was told it was the dangerous part, so he prepared for his death. The doctor came in and handed him a booklet, and in his sleepy monotone voice, read the title,

"So You're Going to Die."

It seems ridiculous that at a time of shock and fear, someone would hand you a booklet that is supposed to somehow prepare you for your imminent demise, which is why that scene was so uncomfortably funny. So when I got a similar booklet titled "Where to Turn After Losing a Loved One" while still sitting with Mr. Jones' body mere moments after he passed, I thought of that scene.

The whole thing was so surreal. Larry was dead and I'm suddenly thinking about that Simpsons episode. I watched the nurse turn and leave the room, off to her station to efficiently manage the case to completion.

I stood there holding the booklet and just laughed.

It wasn't until the next day or two that I opened it up. The first few pages dealt with contacting a funeral home and making arrangements for Larry's remains. God... just typing that, I'm still in disbelief. It details some of the feelings people have and what they experience in the wake of a loved one's death, like hallucinations and nightmares, sleeplessness, forgetfulness, and constant crying.

It doesn't tell you that you won't really be able to drive anywhere for a while because you suddenly can't remember where you are or why you are even going anywhere in the first place.

It does go into creating a notice of death, and which finances need to be handled right away, and how to obtain a death certificate. It does NOT explain how horrible you'll feel when the shame you lived with will be listed as the cause of death or how hard it will be to share that Proof of Death with strangers, knowing that they'll be scanning the certificate for the reason that man died at such a young age.

And there are so many calls to make.

Everyone you talk to is just doing their job. They're not expecting an uncomfortable conversation with a widow, so they stumble over their words in an attempt to find the right ones that they didn't think they'd need when they heard them in their training. I pictured the agents scouring their desks for the booklet or even a small sheet titled:

"So You're On a Call with Someone Who Had a Loved One Die."

It's my nature to make people feel at ease, and on every call, I felt like I was somehow failing them as I heard their awkward grasping for words that wouldn't come. The customer service people and I were blindly following some strange protocol neither of us was expecting. As odd as it all was, I accepted their mechanical attempts to console me and was thankful for their patience when my brain failed me when asked the simplest of questions.

As a social creature, the strangest part was how difficult it was for me to be among people; like a fish who just can't, for the life of him, swim one more inch. I turned down just about every invitation to do anything, even a month or two later. I wanted to stay home and disappear into the hole I felt enveloping me.

Thankfully, I have a dear friend who went through the death of an estranged parent who was also an alcoholic, and another friend who’d recently lost his wife. Those two have always been available, day or night, whenever I needed to talk about either side of the loss; addiction or widowhood. Without them, I don't think I would have been able to function every day.

After a few weeks, I started popping my head out every now and then to go out to a dinner on the farm or a street fair with a select few people who were comfortable with my tears, but I just didn't feel like I could put any of my other friends through the awkwardness of a sudden storm of emotions, so I was mostly a hermit.

Only recently have I started regularly going out socially again... and I've been really happy when I do go out... which eventually leads to guilt, because it's only been three months... and how can I be happy when Larry is dead? I have to remind myself that I had years to grieve the loss of our relationship. This death was just the physical manifestation of what I lost long ago.

Still... the guilt comes.

There's no booklet titled, "What to Expect When the Guy You Were Divorcing is on His Death Bed Because of the Thing You Knew Would Happen But Hoped Wouldn't and You're Pretty Sure Leaving Killed Him." There's no road map for navigating the regret of leaving an addict who eventually dies of his disease. There's no grief group specifically for Regretful Widows of Alcoholics. You just go to your Grief Share and listen to all the other grievers who had "good" people die, connecting with them on the one common thread:

Gut-wrenching loss.

And while I make the clumsy attempts at getting on and living my life, just as I had been before I got the news that day at the court house, a memory will float in and derail me and I'll start to tear up. It could be about anything. I'll be singing along with cover bands at the top of my lungs or enjoying a new local restaurant with friends and suddenly, Larry's face is there, all dimply and bright eyed and everything.

The other night, I was talking to a friend about our final conversations and how he'd asked about the barbecue grill and how that made me cry in the hospital. And right there, in the middle of a fun evening with friends, the story of the barbecue made me cry again. Because I'm awesome at ruining a fun night with tears at just the wrong time.

Other times, like in the ICU when I remembered the scene in the Simpsons, I'll break out in laughter and wonder what people think about me. Do they judge me while I'm enjoying a moment, or several moments, or even several DAYS of happiness?

Do they think I'm a horrible person for going on? I'm an almost-divorced widow of a guy who made my life hell, but who I loved so deeply for so many years, and I'm sad about that while still being happy about the blessings that keep coming. Why am I worried about what people think?

There's definitely not a booklet that tells you how to feel okay about celebrating life when no where on this planet does that person even exist anymore. I know it’s supposed to take a while to get past the intense grief and be okay again. The intensity has faded, but I still think about him every day. It's just less and less sad now. Things are getting to be okay most of the time. I just wish I could feel okay about feeling okay.

A long time ago, I forced myself to stop caring about what people thought of me, but this whole season has really shifted things around in my head... some shifting has been good... some bad... some necessary... and I'm suddenly aware of eyes on me and I'm worried again at how people perceive my recovery.

The truth is, no one is ever going to understand any of what I've been through or continue to go through, unless of course, they were married to an alcoholic that they left who died, too. There's no booklet that explains to anyone outside of that illness how hard it is to stay and how much harder it is to leave and how you can end up regretting both in the end.

So I'm not even going to try to make anyone understand or avoid them for possible not getting it. It's not fair to them and it's not fair to me. I'm just going to go on with my life while I experience and lean into those moments... the suck... the fun... the falling to my knees in ugly cries... the bursting out in loud obnoxious laughter... loving the memories of the good... hating the memories of the bad... holding on... moving on... ups... downs... all of it.

That's the whole point of this blog, after all, right? Live the Sweet Life...

“Love always triumphs over what we call death. That's why there's no need to grieve for our loved ones, because they continue to be loved and remain by our side.” -- Paulo Coehlo

We celebrated Mr. Jones this past Saturday. Friends, family, and colleagues joined us at the beach to hug, cry, and catch up. Some people had never met each other, but we all had Larry in common. There were the guys he grew up with... a few people he knew from his time as a manager for Pier 1... the guy that first taught him to fly... distant cousins... and, of course, his beautiful children. There were even some friends of mine that showed up to make sure I was okay.

Was I okay? Not really.

But on Saturday, I was in Event Coordinator mode, focused on the tables, the food, the location of the sun in the sky... all of that mostly helped keep the ugly cries at bay. But it was hard to hear all the stories and see Larry's friends holding back tears. Every now and then, I had to turn my head and just let it go.

After sharing a meal and just before sunset, I gave everyone a large white orchid and we walked down to the water. I asked a few of his friends to share their favorite memories with everyone. The Larry they talked about was the Larry I loved. I didn't always get to see that guy toward the end of our life together. I recognized so many of those stories. Larry loved to regale me with his youthful adventures and indiscretions.

And I'm so glad the kids got to hear about the good guy their dad could be. They have some happy memories, but the past few years have been difficult for them... for all of us. It's hard to remember the fun times when you're stuck in the reality of a nasty disease. Hearing Larry's friends talk about their buddy and the things he did for them truly warmed my heart. The kids needed those stories. We all needed those stories.

When everyone had a chance to share, we took our orchids out into the water and released them into the waves. It was a symbolic letting go, something I think we all needed. I walked a bit further into the water away from the others, holding the orchid close to my heart. After a moment, I lifted it to my lips for one final kiss... and then I let it float away.

I felt Larry's presence the whole evening, hanging around the periphery of the gathering. There was a sense of contentment in the air. I could picture his smile... the smile he had when he woke up after a long nap... like he was just happy and comforted. I know he loved the way it turned out and that he was pleased to see all of his friends gathered together for him.

I also felt a sense of completion... like I had fulfilled my duties to him and he was finally letting me go.

We had some good times, but oh boy, did we have some rough times. The last two years, especially, were some of the hardest years I've ever lived through. Most of the difficulties we suffered through were his doing. I don't think anyone would have blamed me if I would have just said goodbye at the hospital and walked away.

But I was his wife for the past seventeen years. "We were like peas and carrots," we'd always say. We were, on our best days, each other's greatest loves, and that meant something to me. I owed it to the sweet man... the one before the dark times... I owed it to him and his cherished friends to hold a space for them to all come together and say goodbye.

Once it was over, I felt a huge weight lifted from me. I didn't have the desire to linger or to sit with any sadness as the final guests walked away. I didn't feel like I had anything more I needed to say or do. All I felt was relief, and all I wanted to do was go home and sleep for at least three days.

Before leaving the beach, it occurred to me... somehow, in our typical, complicated, dysfunctional way... Mr. Jones and I managed to stay married "til death us do part," just like we promised back on the shores of Lake Tahoe seventeen years ago. We stood on the beach, just before sunset, barefoot in the sand when we made that promise.

And there I was, standing on the beach, just after sunset, barefoot in the sand, saying goodbye.

My honesty tends to get me into a lot of trouble. My inability to bullshit keeps me from exploring other potential income streams. My ethics, although questionable to some, have made it difficult for me to take credit for work I didn't do, even when I've contributed more than half the load.

All through my feed, I see acquaintances making money on nothing more than air. Part of me wishes I had the stomach for that. My life would be dramatically improved. But I'm the kind of person who has nightmares over how to word a text so as not to be too offensive. Being able to write a sales letter to persuade people to part with their money would give me Freddy Kruger level nightmares.

I'm a horrible sales person. I'm not a closer. I can only tell you my experience with a thing and if you are intrigued and want more information, I might go further. When I gush about something, I'm actually moved by that thing. It may come off as insincere to people that have never been exposed to my enthusiasm before, but that doesn't take away the truth behind the excitement. If anything, it just filters people out of my life better.

If I ever tell you to check something out, it's because I think it would make your life better somehow. You'll either find a solution to a problem or a new hobby or really really good food or drinks to enjoy. I can't lie. When I lie, you'll see it all over my face. But if I don't like something, I don't go tearing that thing apart in public. I might pull you aside and tell you what my bad experience was, but hardly ever online. I'm not a critic, but I can be very critical. I just choose how and when to do the criticizing

Some people think that you can't be trusted if you only ever say good things about people, places, or things. I just choose to find the positive in something or avoid writing about it, unless I've been duped, lied to, or seriously wronged somehow. If that happens... oh, it's on.

So can you trust me? That's up to you. But if it was me and I was you and we were listening to Sugar tell us about something... I'd listen to her.